Spirals
by Nymbis
Summary: An ex-Andrastian mage without a Circle. A former Templar in need of purpose. And a tear in the sky that truly does bring all sorts of people together.


**Spirals**

**Notes: **So I finally played through the Cullen romance in DA:I and super loved it, but I felt there was a lot of potential for expanded/added scenes so I thought I'd take a stab at it! It's going to cover the events of the game, and then I plan to extend it onwards. Slow burn and lots of awkward Cullen attempts at seduction :'D

The prologue is background/pre-canon story on the Inquisitor—so feel free to wait until the next chapter if you'd prefer!

**Prologue: Ostwick**

**i.**

Her first encounter with inevitable occurs when she's eight years old, her velveteen dress frayed at the hems and her elbows coated in scabs. Her older siblings are exploring the marsh, just outside of the tree line of the family orchards and therefore just outside of where she is permitted to play. And it's an ordinary enough day, except that their governess has chosen to spend a few extra minutes praying in the family cloister, reflecting upon what she has called a "test of resolve" and what Yvain had said was actually "the new blacksmith."

"You _can't _do _that, _Lynette!" Her brother cries, his stick brandished high above his head in the pantomime of a stave, "I have a barrier!"

"I can _do _whatever I _wish, _Yvain," her older sister shouts back, her hands still folded, "Because I was able to dispel it-"

Evie watches from the shore, as her brother scowls and throws the imaginary stave against the ground, "Why am I always the Apostate? It isn't fair-"

"Because I'm the eldest," Lynette states fairly, nearing ten and already having the bearing of heir apparent in the tilt of her chin and the set of her shoulders, "Now, I dispelled, so you need to fall over-"

"Why do I need to fall over?"

"Because that's what _apostates _do when they've lost their magic, don't you ever listen to anything Tutor Kaye says?"

Yvain shot his twin sister a poisonous look, before his eyes dart to where Evie sits alone, "Evie, you decide! Do I have to fall over?"

Lynette snorts, her dark eyes landing on the youngest Trevelyan expectantly. As eldest, she was quite used to getting her way, "Well, Evie? Does he have to fall over if he's dispelled?"

Evie's gaze moves between the two of them. She didn't really _want _Yvain to fall over, into the muck of the bog. It was bad enough that he stained his good trousers, as they had just left the morning service in the chantry Bann Trevelyan housed within his hold for his family and servants alike. But she thought of Great Uncle Owain, and how sometimes he was lost in his head, but when he wasn't, how she would sit and listen to him talk about his time serving at Ostwick's circle. How all of the mages in his stories, at least, fell down every time. How when her cousin, Kendrick, returned from training he had showed them all his abilities with no small amount of pride. Surely no mage can stay standing when a Templar bows to the Maker?

And, truth be told, even at eight Evie understands that Lynette is a far worse enemy than Yvain could ever hope to be.

"You have to fall down," she judges gravely, picking at the edges of her dress so she wouldn't have to meet either sibling's expression.

"Evie!" Yvain protests, betrayed.

"You heard her," Lynette calls smugly, crossing her arms over her dress made of sea silk and smirking, "You've been vanquished."

Yvain glared, but got down on his knees, sighing mournfully before falling all the way over.

The bog water made a soft plopping noise at his defeat. And Lynette cheered, raising her own stick above her head, "Take that _abomination_-"

"Get on with it," Yvain mumbled sourly into the mud.

"Blessed are they who-"

Yvain's quick, sharp yelp of pain rendered Lynette's jeers short. And both sisters turned to the prostrate figure in the muck.

"What is it now?" Lynette sighs, but Evie stands and tries to brush off the grass from her dress.

"Something bit me-!"

"What could've bit you?" The eldest Trevelyan demands, hands on her hips.

Instead of answering, Yvain only attempts to stand, his hands on his knees and his breathing coming in ragged. Mud slithers trails down his face, onto his chest, but Evie sees the markings on his neck: bright and red and two, twin puncture marks. And her eyes widen. And she _runs. _

(Years later, when she is old enough to look back on this day, and see it as one that is life-changing, Evelyn wonders why she chose to move. What was it that made her think she could make a difference? What makes an eight year old _run_ through a marsh as though she has a plan? She comes up with many solutions—fate, Divine intervention, impulse, fear—but none of them are ever entirely satisfactory)

The water of the bog is thick and muddy when she rushes into it, and the reeds wind around her ankles like sodden fingers. She thinks about the puncture marks on Yvain's neck, and snakes, and wants to scream when something brushes past the exposed skin of her leg. But snakes are secondary to brothers she made fall in the mud, and so she bites down on her lip and pointedly Doesn't Cry as her small, chubby feet sink into the muck, the effort of moving them exhausting her as she runs closer to where Yvain falls over again. In the background, she hears Lynette start to cry and shout that she's going for their governess, but Evie doesn't notice that so much as she does her brother.

He's wheezing, neck and face swollen to twice their usual side as he grabs at his stomach and groans in pain.

"What's wrong?" Evie asks, shaking him, heart thrumming in her chest and somewhere, far away she hears singing.

Yvain doesn't answer. He can't, as his body starts to convulse and foam dribbles out of the corner of his mouth. Tears sting her eyes, and Evie tries to count, tries to remember what Yvain's favorite verse from the Chant of Light is, in case it might help.

She puts her brother's head in her lap, and sinks into the mud with him, eyes searching the skyline as she sees Lynette becoming a smaller and smaller blur as she disappears into the orchard. It's just her, feeling her brother's breath come in pants underneath her hands.

And she doesn't know what to do. So she closes her eyes and the singing becomes louder. It matches the pitch of the rush of blood in her ears, the tempo of her thudding heart. The song becomes clearer, and it reminds her of the hymns in the chantry and the sounds of Lynette and Yvain's practice swords being taken out of their sheathes and the lullabies their governess would sing to her at night, when she was small and saw things too clearly in her dreams.

She hears the song, and Evie follows it and _pulls. _She takes from it, this place strange place beyond her body that she somehow knows just as well as the stone halls of Caer Lyds, and she puts what she takes somewhere else: into the veins of her brother, into the darkness that is trying to make him sleep.

When Evie opens her eyes, her brother is breathing easier underneath her hands and her sister and governess are staring at her like she's a stranger.

(She finds out that what almost killed her brother was a spider bite. Years later, when she is old enough to look into the Fade and be brave enough not to falter, her nightmares take on the shape of the same creature and she is reminded of the day that changed everything)

**ii.**

They write her every week, her first year at the Circle. Letters come mostly from her siblings and her Great Uncle Owain, though his are more difficult to follow. Lynette's are bored, talking about her training in finance and trade and languages as she prepares to take the mantle of heir. Yvain's are more colorful, describing his training and how he is going to be leaving for the Templar Order soon.

Her mother's letters come much later, nearly two months after Evie has left Caer Lyds. In them, she apologizes for the delay, and explains that she has been spending the silent time between missives in prayer and reflection.

Bann Trevelyan's letters are cordial. They are always signed with Andraste's blessing.

Her first year at the Circle, Evie feels, more than anything, _alone. _She hates studying, she hates stillness, and Circle Ostwick has both in abundance. At night, she goes to the chapel and recites the Chant of Light by herself, trying not to forget the word. And also believing, in vain, that saying them might mean that someone is listening, and that maybe she will be forgiven for the sin of hearing a song she was never meant to listen to.

Maybe, if she says the words long enough, the Maker will let her go home. Away from tomes covered in dust and out of the barracks she shares with the other young apprentices—the ones who do not say the Chant and the ones who cry nearly every night.

Her first year at the Circle, Evie has faith that this is all a mistake.

* * *

Three years after Evie arrives at the Circle, the letters come every other month from her siblings and not at all from her mother, and she is allowed to go to the upper floors of the Circle for lectures. There, they have the older apprentices train. And Evie's tutors think it's a good idea for her to watch them practice, to see what mages are capable of. To inspire her.

(Evie is mediocre in her studies at best, her reluctance at practicing her magic only matched by her fervor for praying in front of statues of Andraste. Her boredom at reading her manuals matched only by the zeal in which she rereads old letters from Lynette and Yvain)

Instead, Evie does the unthinkable and makes a friend.

(she is shyer than the other apprentices, aloof and introverted and these are not boons for a new mage who would rather pray with the laysisters than make fire and ice dance around the barracks with her classmates)

On the fifth floor, when Evie sneaks away from the lecture on primal magic and instead finds the store rooms, where she meets Adelaide.

She does not know how they begin talking, but Evie quickly discovers that there is something not quite _right _with Adelaide. Her voice is too measured, her replies too succinct. She is older than Evie, and should therefore be wearing the robes of a Harrowed mage, but instead she wears the dark blue of an apprentice. When Evie looks up, Adelaide stares at her, but through her.

She knows the word in her head, but it's not until she asks and her instructors say _Tranquil _with that tone of pity that Evie really _understands._

(that night, when she prays before the image of Andraste she wonders what it would be like, to say these words and feel _nothing _in them, and at the justice of having something else stolen from her for a sin she did not mean to commit)

Her third year at the Circle, Evie begins to doubt.

* * *

Her fourth year at the Circle marks a quiet change. Letters come twice a year, on her nameday and on Wintersend, and Evie starts to spend more nights talking with Adelaide than looking into the visage of the Bride of the Maker. Adelaide, at least, always answers her. Even if it is with a toneless voice and a stare that makes Evie think about the tomes on her desk that she has not yet read.

* * *

Her fifth year at the Circle, Evie is thirteen and her instructors spend a day explaining the Harrowing for the first time.

She finds the statue of Andraste, and she sits in front of it and wonders about paths and lights in the dark and she closes her eyes and allows herself to _listen_ for the first time to the song, to try and understand it the way she did the day she saved her brother's life, and when the day breaks she understands that if she is going to survive, she will have to first change.

Her fifth year at the Circle, Evie is afraid.

* * *

Her sixth year at the Circle is marked by a move. The children apprentices are given new dormitories, split by gender and affording more privacy. She shares quarters with three other girls, and with them she spends less time looking at old letters and more time gossiping and some nights she even tosses back the white, purple-hot strands of energy when they entertain themselves in their free time.

(Great Uncle Owain dies that summer, and with his death so ends the frequency of the letters she writes. Because there are only so many ways to dance around her lessons, to pretend that what she _is _is just an unfortunate injury that will one day be healed with enough reflection and will, to act like her family are not growing into strangers)

With their new dormitories come Templars posted outside their doors. It's at this age, they say, that mages are more likely to experiment with the things they shouldn't, to go to bed as one thing and wake up as something else.

They remind her of summers spent talking to cousin Kendrick, of stories Great Uncle Owain spins when his pupils were focused. The younger ones make her wonder about Yvain, brandishing his stick and not wanting to fall into the mud. Their presence make her less afraid of what she is, because she knows how they can stop her. When she reads her tomes or practices her duels, she feels their presence like a sinkhole in the room, drawing in reservations and doubt.

Her sixth year at the Circle, Evie starts to accept that she is a mage and that this is the only home she will ever have.

**iii.**

She starts going by Evelyn at fifteen. And _Evelyn _writes letters twice a year (on namedays and Wintersend), spends her evenings between visits to the storage rooms and studying in the archives with her dorm mates (her Harrowing is less than five years away, and somewhere between summoning energy and barriers, Evelyn has forgotten the time spent playing in bogs and instead has learned the value of stillness, the escape of a good story in a book), and makes friends far easier than she ever did as Evie. Evelyn develops a dry sense of humor, a talent in herbalism, and an interest in arcane history.

She is no longer a mediocre mage, and as her talents grow she gains the mentorship of Senior Enchanter Lydia, who is held in far higher esteem than most.

* * *

She has her first encounter with love at sixteen. His name is Cenric. And her infatuation with him is a phenomenally stupid idea. Least of all because he is among the newest Templar recruits meant to monitor the apprentices.

He's not even attractive, at least not in the traditional sense. His nose is offset, broken too many times and slightly hooked. He is constantly pale and nervous, always _fidgeting _either with his gauntlets or his helm. But he looks at her, _at _her, and when the apprentices make deliveries of healing poultices to the Templars' training grounds he always flushes and sincerely gives his thanks.

Her friends ridicule her, of course. Tease her, for going through her "Templar phase" later than the rest of them, who have already moved on to the roguish apostate phase like reasonable apprentices. But she thinks the teasing is worth it, for the small smiles he gives to her in the hall, and the notes he leaves in her room while she and her dorm mates are attending lectures. Sometimes, when he is standing guard in the library and she is finished with her studying, they play chess together through the bookshelves, his back to her as he recites off squares on the board with an alarmingly good memory. Once, he even leaves dried flowers, pressed together under her primer on spirit healing.

It's a mockery of courtship for something that will never be, and over before it begins when a Senior Enchanter spots them exchanging their first and only kiss in the greenhouse. But her friendship with Cenric reminds her that not only the mages feel lonely in the Circles.

* * *

After Cenric, there were others: fellow apprentices, later fellow mages, and once even a Senior Enchanter. Quick dalliances behind bookshelves and experiments in silence and secrecy after hours in the dormitories. The longest relationship was between her and an older, Harrowed mage named Geraint, who had a ponytail and a single bone earring. It lasted nearly a year and consisted of Evelyn being educated in her own oppression and the necessity for mage rights and foolish, detailed plans of escaping and becoming apostates on the run. It ended when he offered to take her with him when he fled and she informed him that she would rather stay put. He left anyways, and they found him less than a day later, trying to figure out how to trade Fereldan sovereigns for drinks at the tavern.

Even at eighteen, Evelyn understood something about Circles that many of her fellow mages did not: they were all any of them knew. And they were the only place to receive training without the fear of becoming killers. They were what stood between them and a destiny of ordering storage houses and reciting prayers without feeling, or dreaming and never truly waking.

They were restrictive. But they were safer than whatever was beyond their walls_._

* * *

Evelyn becomes Harrowed at nineteen. She does not speak of it to her friends, or to Cenric (who asked her about it when he helped her move to the Mages' Quarters—nervous once again with that still too-sweet smile), or even to Senior Enchanter Lydia. She does not tell them of the demons who wore the faces of her siblings, still eternally ten because she hasn't seen them since. Does not tell them about the vision of a black city, of a castle being torn asunder in the sky. Of a desire demon who whispered promises of returning to the Maker's favor in her ear.

Evelyn becomes a mage at nineteen. So does one of her dormmates. The other is killed not even ten minutes into the trial, and the youngest of them elects to be made Tranquil. Of the children she grew up with, only a dozen become adults without losing something.

* * *

For the next few years, before Evelyn's next encounter with inevitable_, _she spends her time reading. Studying. Training. She hones her knowledge of the arcane to the best of her ability, and practices her summoning well into the late hours of the night. She is Harrowed now, officially one of the members of the Circle of Magi, and it has become more of a home to her. She has become responsible, for the apprentices, for the Tranquil, for her own training to prevent the creation of abominations.

Her tenth year at the Circle, Evelyn finds her home.

(it doesn't last)

**iv.**

Uprisings are never truly surprising, not really. And when Evelyn wakes to smoke and fire, of Senior Enchanter Lydia telling her to get the children, she moves as if this is a performance she has long been rehearsing for. The halls of the Circle are littered with corpses—she trips over the body of Adelaide trying to reach the apprentices' quarters and doesn't have time to register grief.

She gets out the children that she can. She is unable to find her other friends, or Cenric. She doesn't have time to try, really, as Templars massacre mages and mages massacre each other. She thinks of her Harrowing, of the broken down kingdom, of the stones flying in the air, and she imagines that the black city must be like this—it must be a sanctuary razing itself to the ground. It must be the echoing song, as veils lift and darkness comes from them.

Evelyn doesn't ask for the Maker to save her. Doesn't ask for Andraste's guidance as she brings lightning down on those she once called family. She _runs._

(Months later, when she is safe enough to look back on this night, and see her actions from a distance, Evelyn wonders why she chose to escape. Could she have made a difference, if she stayed? What makes a twenty-one year old _run_ through a ruined sanctuary as though she has a plan? She comes up with many solutions—fear, survival, panic—but none of them are ever entirely satisfactory)

In less than ten hours, the Circle of Ostwick is disbanded, and Evelyn Trevelyan is officially an apostate.

(when she's running, deep into the woods she has not seen for so long, she thinks about her brother. About the stick he waved above his head, about how it was never fair that he had to lose every time because he was always stuck being the _apostate_)

* * *

They band together, what's left of them. They hide. Sometimes, she steals from villagers—small things: clothing on the line, grain and flour from their stores. Then bigger things: coins in purses, bracelets and pendants left in trunks or vases. She learns how to hunt with magic, how to rip the skin from animals to make leather or furs.

And as they make their homes in caves, in woods, in abandoned huts, Evelyn thinks about the warm walls of the Circle, of never having to worry about her next meal. Of never having to scavenge through the pockets of a corpse for gold in order to buy food at the next market.

If this freedom, rash and dangerous and desperate_, _is what they were after when they broke apart their homes, it's a freedom she doesn't want. It's a freedom she didn't get to _choose_.

Because living in the wilderness is very romantic until people—children—start to starve. Until those who lived in seclusion and shelter are thrown into elements they never fully understood. Until it becomes open season on apostates who, until a few months ago, followed every letter of Chantry law.

(A group of rogue Templars kill ten of their own. And she knows for certain that it can never go back to how things were. But what she doesn't know is if that's progress or damnation.

Until she finds out, she decides to no longer say the Chant. There is no use in praying to a Maker who has already doomed them.)

* * *

Evelyn doesn't know how long she has been in hiding when it is Geraint, of all people, who finds her with the news. He is weathered, ponytail shorn and bone earring nowhere to be found, and when he mentions attending a Conclave between Templars and Mages, headed by Divine Justinia herself, she knows his relief matches her own.

He tells her that Senior Enchanter Lydia is dead. That the name _Trevelyan _still means something in some circles. That this might be the only chance for them to reach an accord.

So Evelyn agrees to accompany him to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. And begins her third encounter with the inevitable_._


End file.
